


As Clean as a Sinner Could Be

by lit_chick08



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gift Fic, Older Woman/Younger Man, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the mistakes she's made in her life, having an affair with her son's best friend is easily the biggest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Clean as a Sinner Could Be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefairfleming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/gifts).



> Written as a follow up to [these](http://vixleonard.tumblr.com/post/79786836485/jal80-i-like-to-repost-this-picture-from-time) [two](http://vixleonard.tumblr.com/post/80126579554/can-you-write-some-more-of-that-fic-where-jon-kisses) ficlets on Tumblr
> 
> Title comes from "I Had Me a Girl" by The Civil Wars

The first time in his hotel room, she could write it off to loneliness, to sadness, to the ache of recognizing she would soon be without even her children for company. Ned was gone, dead fourteen months after the heart attack none of them anticipated. Robb had gotten married downstairs in the ballroom, Sansa just moved into the city for her new job, Arya and Bran were away at school, and Rickon would join them in two short years. Yes, it was lonely desperation that drove Catelyn Stark to Jon Snow’s bed in that hotel.

The second time in his tiny apartment, that was vanity, a kneejerk reaction to being fifty and a young man finding her attractive. Catelyn knew she was in good shape for her age, that she didn’t necessarily look like a woman with five children, and though she’d never been bothered by the lines on her face or the stretch marks on her sides, it was different now that she was a single woman for the first time in 33 years. Ned fell in love with her when she was seventeen, married her at twenty-one, watched her become a mother at twenty-two, and he’d called her beautiful every one of those years. It embarrassed her to realize how much she missed that validation, and it could be the only excuse for why she went to Jon’s apartment that day.

But this time, the third time, this is just pure fucking insanity. 

They are in his apartment again, in his bed with the flannel sheets that smell of his cologne and Tide. He moves over her with a surprising amount of grace, a deep, fast thrust in, a slow pull out; the brush of her nipples against his chest makes her shiver, makes her dig her nails into his muscled shoulders and draw up her legs. Jon moans, catching her left knee and drawing it higher against her chest. Her orgasm is building, hovering just out of reach, and she can tell from the tense expression on Jon’s face and labored breathing he will not last much longer. 

“Are you close?” he pants, his breath hot against her face.

“It’s fine,” she chokes out, her voice catching at a particularly deep thrust. “You can finish.”

He kisses her, sloppy and a bit unskilled, one hand fumbling between their bodies. She moans against his mouth as the pads of his fingers find her swollen clit, the pleasure sharp. It’s always been more intense for her, the unexpectedness of another person’s touch, the anticipation of what would come next. His touch is firm and relentless, no time for teasing now, and Catelyn pitches her hips up in a bid for more friction, for _more_.

“C’mon, Cat,” Jon grits out between his teeth, holding himself painfully still inside her as his hand massages her with quickening speed. “C’mon, sweetheart, come for me.”

Her orgasm breaks only a moment before Jon groans, pushing himself deeper inside her. She grasps at him, drawing her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around him; Jon kisses her cheeks, her shoulder, her collarbone, and Catelyn twists her head, rooting around for his mouth. The kiss is slow and soft, Catelyn slipping her tongue into his mouth; she trembles, desire still lit within her, and she idly wonders how soon Jon could be ready again, if they have time for another round before she has to pick Rickon up from football practice.

“Jesus Christ, Cat,” he laughs against her mouth, rolling onto his back beside her, and Catelyn finds herself laughing too, the endorphins in her body making her powerless to do anything else.

When their laughter has stopped, quiet descending over the room, Catelyn ventures, “I came over here to tell you that we can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” Jon says, tucking his hands behind his head. “We shouldn’t have done it to start. I mean…Robb is my best friend. I don’t want to fuck that up.”

“Right, and I certainly don’t want the children to know I’ve…” Catelyn trails off, unsure how to classify what has been happening between them. “Tonight has to be the last time, Jon.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay.”

And yet she lets him fuck her in the shower before she goes, her breasts pressed against the cool tile, his warm body against her back.

* * *

The moment she sits down at Lysa’s table in the busy restaurant, her sister narrows her eyes and declares, “You’ve had sex,” with the sort of authority only a little sister can have. Catelyn wants to deny it, but the blush hits her cheeks before she can stop it.

She and Lysa had become widows within months of each other, Lysa’s husband Jon succumbing to cancer just before Ned’s heart attack. For Lysa, whose husband was twice her age, outliving him hadn’t come as quite the same shock as it had for Catelyn; in fact, she’d moved on with Petyr Baelish remarkably soon after Jon’s funeral, marrying him at the courthouse while little Robert was in school. Of anyone, Lysa had the least right to judge her for moving on.

And yet Lysa is Lysa, and if Catelyn confessed to her that the man she’d shared a bed with was Robb’s best friend, Lysa would become so insufferable, Catelyn wouldn’t be able to stand it. 

“I can’t believe you slept with someone,” Lysa continues, a superior little smile playing at her lips. “I assumed you’d taken a vow of celibacy or would eventually throw yourself off a cliff somewhere shouting Ned’s name. Who knew you were mortal like the rest of us?”

“Lysa!” Catelyn chastises, primly opening her menu. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

Lysa scoffs. “I don’t care if you do or not. We’re definitely talking about this. Who is he? Do I know him?”

“No,” she answers immediately, certain Lysa wouldn’t remember meeting Jon at Robb’s graduation party ten years earlier. “You don’t know him.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

Lysa arches an eyebrow. “What, is he your prison penpal?”

Catelyn huffs at her sister’s ridiculousness. “Of course not.” Knowing she won’t let it go without _some_ detail, she reveals, “He teaches English.”

“Does he write you sonnets? Is he terribly romantic?” When Catelyn says nothing, Lysa laughs. “I hope he’s a little more fun than Ned. You could certainly use some fun, Cat.”

“Ned and I had fun!”

“Cat, I love you dearly and I loved Ned too, but ‘fun’ is not a word anyone would use to describe him.” Picking up her menu, Lysa shrugs. “If you want to keep your secrets, go ahead. I’ll find them out eventually.”

Catelyn tries to laugh, playing off her words, but she fears the truth beneath them. Lysa may not have many skills, but learning what she is not supposed to, is her specialty. 

_There’s nothing to figure out,_ Cat reminds herself as she orders her salad. _Jon and I are done._

* * *

Catelyn loves Rickon dearly but as she sits on the freezing cold bleachers to watch the Direwolves play, she wishes he’d take up a sport played in warmer weather. Even though it is only early October, already the temperature is down in the forties, and Catelyn would much rather be curled up in front of the fire at home than wearing multiple layers of clothes, her hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup of coffee, wincing every time the idiots behind her rang their cowbells.

“Hey, Mr. Snow!” someone calls, and Catelyn looks to see Jon climbing the bleachers, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. His black curls are wild, thick framed glasses perched atop his nose, and Catelyn sees he has shaved since the last time she saw him, the full beard that had left red abrasions on her breasts now little more than stubble.

Jon notices her, pauses for a millisecond and then waves awkwardly. Catelyn does the same before gesturing to the space beside her. He takes a seat, tucking his hands back into his pockets and nodding towards the field.

“I heard he’s starting tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s really excited.”

An awkward silence descends, and Catelyn wonders how other women handle having flings. Of course, most women likely don’t do it with a boy they’ve known since he was Rickon’s age…

“I was going to call,” Jon murmurs during the second quarter, keeping his gaze focused on the football field. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted me to do it.”

Catelyn briefly considers pretending as if she didn’t hear him before admitting, “I don’t know if I wanted you to or not.” She sighs. “It’s complicated.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

“Do you want me to just leave you alone?”

 _Yes,_ she knows she should say. _You’re young enough to be my son, you were Robb’s best man, my children would hate me if they ever found out what we’ve done. You need to find someone your own age. I don’t need you to pity me._

“It’s complicated,” she repeats instead, watching as Rickon takes the field.

* * *

She waits in the parking lot beside her car, the enormous Suburban that seems like overkill now that Rickon is the only one she needs to ferry around town. Jon waits with her, discussing Rickon’s performance in the game, and so long as the conversation stays in the neutral zone of her youngest son, Catelyn does not have to think about the way it feels when Jon is inside her.

Rickon comes out of the field house, his bag thrown over his shoulder, shaggy auburn hair wet against his head. He high fives Jon in greeting in one of those complex ways Catelyn has never been able to fully figure out, both men clapping the other on the back in a half-hug. She’s suddenly reminded of the first summer Jon vacationed with them at the lake house, when he’d give Rickon rides around the property on his shoulders every time he asked.

“Can I spend the night at Tommen’s?”

Head spinning at the abruptness of the question, she manages, “Will his parents be home?”

“His mom is. C’mon, Mom, all the guys are going.”

Across the parking lot Catelyn can see Tommen Baratheon and handful of Rickon’s teammates lingering near the Escalade Tommen received for his sixteenth birthday. Ned’s death has relieved her of any socializing she was forced to do with the Baratheons, but she knows it is unfair to expect Rickon to do the same.

“Have fun,” is all she says, smiling when Rickon brushes a quick kiss against her cheek before taking off across the parking lot.

Jon shifts his weight beside her. “Well, I should probably head home then.”

“Right. I should too.”

He looks at her for a moment, almost as if he is trying to figure something out, before finally blurting out, “Do you want to come over, have some coffee?”

This is her chance to be strong, to say no, go home, and return to being a responsible adult. 

Instead she nods.

* * *

She can’t remember the last time she had sex on a couch, and she certainly has never had sex on a futon, especially when a perfectly good bed is across the room. And yet here she is, naked from the waist down, her bra still on, straddling Jon Snow on his battered futon like some drunken college kid.

Jon’s face is buried between her breasts, pressing wet kisses to her curves, and Catelyn buries her fingers in his curls, tugs at his hair and moans at the way his hands tighten on her hips, the way he thrusts harder up into her.

There is little chance of her coming tonight, her mind too burdened down with worry to fully enjoy this, but she likes the way Jon looks at her, likes that he wants her as much as he does. She rolls her hips, tightening around him, and Jon groans, his face twisting into ecstasy as he comes.

“God,” he shakily exhales, kissing the inner curve of her breast, pulling the cup down to run his tongue over her nipple. Catelyn shivers, enjoys the sensation for a moment before climbing off his lap. She ducks into the bathroom to clean up, wincing when she sees he’s left a deep hickey on the upper slope of her breast; she will need to wear high-necked blouses until it heals.

Jon is still on the futon when she emerges from the bathroom, his jeans now pulled back up to cover himself. She sees she left marks of her own on his pale, muscled chest, and the red nail marks embarrass her.

So much of this embarrasses her.

She dresses quickly, acutely aware of Jon’s grey eyes on her. When he rises, she expects him to go the bathroom and is startled when he touches her shoulder to still her, gently cupping her cheeks and kissing her. It isn’t like their tentative first kiss in the vineyard or the desperate kisses exchanged during sex; this is the sort of kiss you give a lover, and Catelyn feels something like panic tightening around her heart.

“Why don’t you call me if you want to see me again, okay?” Jon murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead before disappearing into the bathroom.

The responsibility for this is on her now, and Catelyn swears she will be able to refuse.

* * *

She lasts three weeks, her days spent having lunch with Lysa, volunteering at the senior center, and keeping the house while her nights were full of running Rickon around, going to his games, and making meals too elaborate for just her and Rickon. Catelyn tells herself she doesn’t care to see Jon again, that it was a series of poor choices she has moved past, and yet every time she touches herself, she thinks of him and the way he looks at her.

The morning she breaks, it is Saturday, and she is having brunch with Lysa, Selyse Baratheon, and Barbrey Ryswell. She cannot think of a group of less cheery women to spend a weekend morning with but they are the organizing committee for the silent auction at the country club. Catelyn is debating how many mimosas she can have and still be okay to drive when she impulsively grabs her cell phone and sends Jon a text.

**I want to see you.**

He doesn’t answer immediately, and Catelyn begins to worry. Jon is a young man, and Robb has always laughed about the women who follow him. He certainly has more options available to him than a middle-aged mother. The entire drive to the country club, Catelyn curses herself for behaving like a lovesick girl.

She is the last to arrive, Selyse glaring at her in disapproval, and Catelyn immediately orders a mimosa. Barbrey is talking about a donation from the Tyrells, Lysa repeatedly interrupting, and Catelyn cannot pay attention at all. Her brunch companions are bickering over something Alannys Greyjoy wants to donate when Catelyn’s phone chimes, alerting her to a new text message.

Her heart is in her throat when she sees it is from Jon, two words staring up at her from the screen.

**Come over.**

“Are we keeping you from something?” Barbrey snipes, and Catelyn makes an apologetic face, tucking her phone back into her purse.

If brunch felt long before, it is tortuously slow after Jon’s text. By the time the waiter brings their check, Catelyn practically throws cash onto the table, eager to be gone. Lysa smiles knowingly and whispers, “Booty call?”

“Shut up,” Catelyn responds, giving her sister a brief hug.

* * *

She barely gets inside the door of Jon’s apartment before he has her pressed against the door, his mouth against hers, hands wandering over her body. Catelyn moans into his mouth, tugging his white t-shirt up, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull the shirt over his head. Jon’s hands find their way beneath the skirt of her dress, his thumbs hooking into her underwear and tugging them impatiently down her thighs.

“Jon,” she pants, stepping out of her underwear, reaching for him for another kiss.

But Jon does not return to kissing her, instead dropping to his knees in front of her. He pushes her skirt up, urging her to take hold of it, and Catelyn shakes at the potent image of Jon supplicant between her legs, his eyes hot and sharp as he looks up at her.

“Spread your legs,” he orders, a slight growl to his voice, and Catelyn widens her stance, her breathing loud and labored to her own ears.

She cries out sharply at the first brush of his tongue against her flesh, the sensation too much and not enough after so long without being touched this way. Jon hooks his arms around her thighs, carefully parting her folds with his thumbs, and Catelyn bites her lip to keep from shouting as he licks her from entrance to clit, stopping briefly to suck and starting again. He moans against her, thrusting his tongue against her clit, teasingly drawing circles around it, sliding it inside of her, and Catelyn’s legs start to feel shaky, her head spinning.

“Jon – Jon – “ She tries to reach for him, dropping her skirt and briefly covering him, but quickly grabs it again, not wanting to lose sight of him like this. “Please – “

“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice deeper than Catelyn’s ever heard it. 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Because I’ve been dying to get my mouth on your cunt.”

Catelyn shouts, the combination of his mouth and words lighting a fire in her gut, and she fears her legs may give out on her. She works her hips against his mouth, her breath catching as Jon begins to suck on her clit in earnest, two blunt fingers sliding inside of her, and she can’t remember the last time she was so wet, so ready to come.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants as her orgasm hits, light dancing behind her eyes as she trembles through it, spasming hard around his fingers. Her legs start to give out on her, and Jon senses this, bearing her down to the floor. 

Catelyn reaches down, pushing at the waistband of his sweats, and Jon hurries to help. He moans deep in his chest as he slides inside her, and when their lips meet, Catelyn can taste her pleasure on his mouth.

They fuck right there in the entryway, the cheap carpet abrading her shoulders.

* * *

They start meeting on Tuesday and Thursday evenings while Rickon is at evening practice and Saturday afternoons after her meetings with the auction committee. Initially she tells herself it is nothing, that it is just sex, a side effect of the sadness and sexual frustration of being alone after so many years of marriage. And then one Thursday night after dropping Rickon at practice, she arrives at Jon’s apartment to see that he’s made dinner for them, and suddenly Catelyn knows this isn’t _just_ sex.

“Are you in love with this mystery man?” Lysa asks her one afternoon as they sit in the sauna at the club, towels clinched around their bodies. 

“No,” Catelyn answers immediately, brushing a damp lock of hair from her forehead. “It isn’t like that.”

“Isn’t it?” Lysa smiles. “Oh, Cat, you can’t even be a cougar properly.”

“Don’t call me a cougar!” Catelyn hisses, looking anxiously around the room at the other women. “Jesus, Lysa, I’m not _proud_ of sleeping with someone so young.”

Lysa rolls her eyes, something like disgust playing on her features. “God, Cat, if you’re about to start complaining because young guys find you attractive and want to have sex with you, let me know so I can throw up now.”

“You don’t understand – “

“I understand perfectly. You feel guilty because you’re fucking someone that isn’t Ned, and you’re using your grown children as an excuse as to why you shouldn’t.” Lysa shakes her head. “The only one judging this is you.”

* * *

“So I have something kind of awkward to ask you.”

Catelyn lifts her head from Jon’s chest, an amused smile playing at her lips. “I’m interested to hear what’s _more_ awkward than asking me to keep my heels on and masturbate while you watched.”

Jon blushes, and she marvels once again at the difference between the confident man who shares her bed and the shyer one who exists outside of it. “Okay, awkward in a different way. Robb asked me if I’m coming to Thanksgiving next week.”

“Oh. Well…you always spend Thanksgiving with us.”

“Right but that was before…”

“Before…?”

“Before I asked you to keep your heels on and masturbate for me,” Jon wryly finishes. 

She chuckles. “That _has_ changed things a bit.” She sets her head back against his chest, idly dragging her fingers through the coarse hair around his navel. “But you should definitely come like you always have. It would be weird otherwise.”

Jon tightens his arms around her, kissing the crown of her head. “Should I bring anything?”

“Just yourself.”

Fluttering panic starts in her stomach.

* * *

Bran and Arya arrive home on Tuesday night, Bran complaining that Arya drives like a madman and Arya loudly telling him he’s welcome to find a different ride back to campus. Rickon immediately jumps on the back of Bran’s wheelchair, tipping his older brother briefly before they both laugh, embracing tightly. 

Sansa arrives the next morning with her new girlfriend, a tall, lean girl with close-cropped black hair named Mya. She hugs Catelyn a little too tight, talking in the overly perky voice Catelyn recognizes from Sansa’s last visit when she was convinced both Catelyn and Rickon were too far into mourning. She has always worried too much, her Sansa, and it makes Catelyn worry about her in turn.

Robb and Jeyne arrive that night, Robb crushing them all in embraces, Jeyne kissing their cheeks. They’ve barely been inside the house for an hour before Robb announces Jeyne is pregnant, due in May, and it sets off another round of hugs, kisses, and congratulations.

“Excited to be a grandma?” Robb asks her, grinning so broadly his face looks as if it could split.

She wants to say yes because she is. Catelyn has missed having a baby around the house, had spoken with Ned about how much fun it would be when they got to be grandparents. But the moment Robb says the word, the moment Catelyn realizes she is a _grandmother_ , she has never felt older in her life.

By the time Jon arrives mid-afternoon, she has been up for hours, prepping the turkey and fretting over how not only is she having an age-inappropriate affair with her son’s friend, she is now a grandmother-to-be behaving that way. The last thing she wants to do is make an entire Thanksgiving feast, mediate the fights over the remote control between Rickon, Arya, and Bran, listen to Jeyne vomiting in the downstairs powder room, and ignore Sansa and Robb lecturing her on how she should live her life. The sight of Jon bearing a bottle of her favorite wine and a 12-pack of beer is enough to make her want to fling her arms around him if only for the break.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Jon says, embracing Robb, brushing a kiss against Sansa’s cheek, and setting the drinks on the island. “Can I help with anything?”

“Go outside and play football,” Catelyn orders, wiping her hands on a rag. “And don’t make Bran keep score again.”

“But, Mom, we want to help – “

She clasps Sansa’s face in her hands. “Sweetie, I love you, but if you don’t get out of my kitchen, I will kill you.”

Robb laughs, clapping Jon on the back and tugging at the back of Sansa’s sweater. “I’ll keep everyone away until dinner.”

Jon casts a look over his shoulder, brow furrowed in concern, and Catelyn already knows she isn’t certain she’ll be able to handle this day. When she looks at Jon Snow now, she sees her lover, the man who calls her “Cat” in a sleepy, satisfied voice after sex, who knows that she likes it best when he fucks her hard and fast after spending time teasing her. It is easy to look at him that way when she is alone with him, when her children are gone and there is no one around. It is far less easy to go back to being Mrs. Stark, to play at being the grown-up among children.

She pops the pies in the oven, peels potatoes and put them on to boil; so long as she stays focused on cooking, she can keep her mind off of the bad romantic comedy her life has become. 

The last place setting has just been put on the dining room table when Jon asks, “Are you okay?”

Catelyn turns, sees him standing near the kitchen door, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up to his elbows, a grass stain visible on the knee of his jeans. “What?”

“You look freaked.”

She sighs, pushing her hair out of her face. “I really can’t do this right now.”

Jon nods, quickly covering his hurt expression. “Yeah, sure. How much longer should we play?”

“Call them in. Everyone will need to wash up anyway.”

As he disappears back out the door to do just that, Catelyn glances into the living room, the last family portrait they took before Ned’s death smiling at her from over the fireplace.

* * *

Dinner is finished, everyone gorging themselves on pie and the alcohol of their choice, when Sansa announces, “So I think you should start online dating.”

It takes Cat a moment to realize the words are directed towards her, and even then she can only laugh. “What?”

“Rickon says all you ever do is hang out around the house or have lunch with Aunt Lysa,” Sansa explains, looking around the table for support. Catelyn notices that Jon pointedly keeps his gaze averted. “You need to meet someone.”

“She doesn’t need to meet someone,” Arya protests. “Dad’s only been gone – “

“A year-and-a-half,” Sansa cuts in, clearly on a mission, “and he wouldn’t want you to be alone and miserable.”

Catelyn laughs in disbelief, pouring herself another glass of wine. “Sansa, really.”

“It’s totally acceptable nowadays! Mya’s mom met a really nice guy that way, didn’t she?”

Mya squirms in her seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Well – “

“And I just read an article the other day that said most women don’t even really peak sexually until they’re fifty – “

Under different circumstances, Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon all shouting out in horror, waving their arms to get Sansa to stop talking would have been hilarious, but there is nothing funny about this. Catelyn is torn between humiliation and anger, and she doesn’t have nearly enough wine for this.

“Well I’m drunk,” Robb proclaims in an overly jovial voice, obviously trying to break the tension, “and I think we should clean up and then catch a nap before we go Good Friday shopping. Jon? You staying the night?”

“If it’s okay with your mom,” Jon answers after a beat.

“Of course,” Catelyn says because this is how it has always been.

While her children clear the table, Catelyn drains her wineglass again.

* * *

“Can I join you?”

Catelyn knows she should say no, that even with only Jeyne and Bran in the house, everyone else having gone to line up in the cold, it is too risky for someone to find them together on the den couch, splitting a bottle of wine before the fire. But she is already a little drunk and more than a little tired, so she gestures for him to sit.

“So dinner was interesting.”

“That’s one word for it.”

“I bet you’ll be real popular on Match.com.”

Catelyn whips her head around to look at him in shock only to see Jon grinning, unable to keep from laughing as she shoves at his shoulder. He catches her wrist, tugging her to his chest, and kisses the top of her head. She briefly considers twisting away, trying to maintain propriety, but decides against it, breathing in the scent of his cologne.

“Just for that, I’m going to let Sansa make me an account and I’ll trade you in for some fat, bald man who sells insurance and remembers buying 8-tracks.”

“You really going to break my heart like that?” 

She freezes for a moment. “Would it…break your heart?”

Jon shakily exhales. “Cat…I’m in love with you. You have to know that, don’t you? What did – What did you think we were doing together?”

She pulls back, overwhelmed by everything. “I didn’t – I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know how you felt – “

“I love you,” he cuts in, voice stronger now. “I am in love with you. That is how I feel, and that is how I hope you feel.”

“Jon…”

She kisses him, slipping into his lap, burying her fingers in his hair. Jon parts his lips immediately, accepting her tongue, and she is suddenly ravenous for him. She reaches down, finding his belt, and undoes it, never breaking the kiss. Jon moans as she palms him through the denim, his hands reaching for her shirt, but Catelyn pushes his hands away, sliding from his lap onto the floor, kneeling between his splayed knees.

“Cat,” he gasps as she works his jeans over his hips, her hand reaching into his boxers to pull out his stiff cock.

“Shhh.”

As she licks him from root to tip, it occurs to her that she’s never done this for him. It has never been her favorite thing to do, and he’s never asked. Of all the things they’ve done together over the past few months, Jon has asked her for many things, pushed her boundaries in others, but never once had he pointed out the disparity in their relationship when it came to oral attentions.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes, one hand grasping her hair and then immediately releasing it, an apology mingling with creative expletives. She wants to laugh, wants to tease him as she has before about how she won’t break, but playfulness is for his apartment, for the person she gets to be when she owes nothing to anyone but herself.

“Oh fuck!” he repeats, his voice deeper and panicked, hands now pushing her away. Catelyn pulls back, one hand wiping at the saliva on her lower lip, and she turns to see Jeyne standing in the doorway, literally frozen in shock.


End file.
